


Sandcastles, Seaglass, Ocean Winds, Crashing Waves

by RainyRinReina



Series: Reina's Vague Art Fics [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Don't Listen To The Voice Inside, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyRinReina/pseuds/RainyRinReina
Summary: “Nothing compares to the feeling, nothing compares to the surge of emotions. Nothing else makes him feel alive like it does, and nothing else ever will, not even love for another person.” ~ A quote from Lando’s internal monologue.For most, it would be a surprise to know that Lando loves the beach. Considering that he is a person who wears thick coats even when the temperature sits in the low twenties, and still whines about the cold, there’s no place he’d rather be.You betcha it’s another rewrite, the original was too short and honestly a bit too intimate for me to keep up. Also I changed the title because I found out there's another fic called Sand castle and I didn't want to confuse people.
Relationships: Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Series: Reina's Vague Art Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557073
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Sandcastles, Seaglass, Ocean Winds, Crashing Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up there is a vague hint at suicide and drowning in the first section.

** _Sand; Granular material composed of finely divided rock and mineral particles. It is defined by size, being finer than gravel and coarser than silt. Sand can also refer to a textural class of soil or soil type._ **

Fine golden powder that always gets everywhere. Tiny fragments of rock broken up by the elements over millennia. To touch it makes him feel alive.

** _Beach; Pebbly or sandy shore, typically bordering the sea (or another water body) between high-water and low-water marks._ **

A place between one world and the next. A place of constant change and serene calm. To be there feels like home.

** _Seaglass; Glass that has been discarded at sea or the seashore, broken into pieces, and smoothed by the erosive action of sand and water, often used in making jewelry._ **

Something unheard of by most, formed from chaos and ignorance, enchanting the finder (him) to collect every piece. To find it gives him purpose.

** _Waves: Movement of a water body caused by wind moving across the surface of the water. The friction between the air molecules and the water molecules causes energy to be transferred from the wind to the water._ **

A force of nature, completely unstoppable. Sometimes ice cold, sometimes just refreshingly cool. There’s only one way he wants to leave this earth. To drown under one would be blissful.

* * *

To say he was disappointed by Sochi was an understatement. He was heartbroken. Heartbroken by the harsh grey coloured stones that covered the shore. He’d gotten his hopes up, neglected the idea of researching where he was going. He should’ve known, he’d been to Sochi a year earlier but the battle for the F2 title had left him with no time to see the beach.

He hadn’t felt the sand since Croatia, almost two months ago, the withdrawal had long since passed and he’d felt cold and numb everyday since Spa. The painful weekend in Belgium hadn’t helped but without it the inevitable numbness would have only been delayed by a week at most. The fans laughed at his insistence on wearing trousers and coats through the summer but they didn’t know how cold he truly felt. Even lava being poured down his throat wouldn’t have warmed him.

It had been even longer since he’d gone looking for seaglass, but then again, the opportunities to hunt for the pieces were always few and far between. Maybe Sochi would’ve been a good place to hunt, but the tourists and inescapable cameras said otherwise.  _ You know what happens when they find out, they talk and they judge. You don’t want that do you? _

‘Please be quiet, stop talking, please’ he willed the voice inside him to stop talking. To stop reminding him of what happened all those years ago in primary school. When the kids started realising that it wasn’t normal for their classmate to waste all of monday crying in the reading corner because he wanted to go to the beach. Kids can be cruel, words leave scars deeper than knives.

They didn’t understand, no one except his family did. Nothing compares to the feeling, nothing compares to the surge of emotions. Nothing else makes him feel alive like it does, and nothing else ever will, not even love for another person. There was nothing wrong with him, his soulmate was just a place rather than a person.  _ There’s everything wrong with you. _

Last year he’d had so much time at home, despite challenging for the F2 title and preparing physically for F1. Countless days waking up at dawn, driving to the coast just to feel the sand between his toes filled his memories. Now he barely had time to even go home, forced to spend his free days in Guildford. Visiting TopGolf with his friends was a distraction but swinging golf clubs for hours would never be enough to ease the pain. If anything it just delayed the pain and caused it to build up until he was alone at 3am, left in a silent apartment to cry and clutch old treasures to his chest.

The photo albums his Mum had sent helped somewhat. Hundreds of photos of him kneeling in the sand next to his creations. Magnificent castles over a metre high, hand dug moats deep enough to drown in, seashell piles up to his knees, candid shots of him dragging a bag filled with his collection of spades and shapes and moulds. His favourite photo would always be him sitting in the convertible Ferrari he’d helped those artists buld one year. 

The feeling of the sand wasn’t what he truly loved, no. The seemingly infinite possibilities of creation, that’s what he loved.

“Come on, we need to get back to the track.” Jake’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, but not completely.

“Huh?”  _ Pay attention, if you don’t they’ll catch on, do you want them to know how much of a freak you are? _

“I said we need to get back to the track. Are you okay?”

“Just thinking,” trying not to cry, that would be more accurate but no, he had a reputation to uphold. He couldn’t be seen sobbing over a lack of sand, what would people think of him? Tuesday he’d be home, he’d drive to the Witterings and he’d spend the whole day there. Talk of weather warnings and day long downpours wouldn’t stop him. He needed to feel the sand, he felt like he’d go crazy without it.

If anyone knew, they'd think there was something seriously wrong with him.  _ There is something wrong with you, freak. _

* * *

Sochi yielded four precious points for himself and the team. Four points thanks to a penalty. Four points to make up for the pain that Thursday morning brought.

Tuesday brought worse weather than predicted but nothing could stop him. Rising at 5am to catch the sunrise would be worth it, even if the sky was grey from wall to wall. The isolation gifted by the early hours felt welcoming after two weeks of only being alone when he slept. 'Even social butterflies needed moments alone to just experience the peace and quiet,' was the way his mum used to word it. As the sky went from the darkest storm grey to a lighter and brighter grey he began to dig, the best sand was always half a metre deep.

The vibrations from his jeans pocket broke his spell. A phone call. A phone call he had to answer. The spell of thinking of nothing, just feeling the sand, broken.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lando, where are you, you are not home?" Carlos. He could continue digging while he took this one. Carlos might be his teammate and dear friend but if it was actually important then someone else from the team would’ve called.

"No? I'm at the beach, making the most of my day off, you know?" Why did he tell Carlos where he was?  _ Now he’s going to know how weird you really are. _

"You are crazy, do you not watch the weather or is this a weird English-" Call ended. Unsurprising considering the remoteness of the beach and the abysmal weather.  _ He called you crazy, it's the truth, only someone as crazy as you would risk their health going to the beach in a freezing storm just to play in the sand like a child. _

_ Get up, go home, freak. _ The spell was broken, he had to leave.

To leave a half built castle, to try and fail to brush off his jeans, to wrap his dripping coat around him and pick up the carrier bag of tools took more out of him physically than the entire Singapore race. He never wanted to leave but Carlos's phone call had broken the spell, he couldn't ignore the icy winds anymore. He couldn't ignore the downpour turning the car park into a swamp.

Back to Guildford... back to reality.

* * *

To find Carlos sitting in his flat waiting for him hours after the phone call surprised him. His teammate had waited, despite not knowing where he was or how long he'd be.

"What are you doing here?"  _ Get him out, get him out, he needs to go before he finds out the truth. _ “Don’t you have anything better to do.”  _ Not like that freak, do you want your teammate to hate you? _

"I was worried."  _ Aww how sweet, someone actually cares about you. You don’t deserve it. _

“SHUT UP,” he screamed, why would he do that. Carlos jumped at the rage filled scream that came from his ‘delicate’ younger teammate. “No, no, no. Not you Carlos, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m sorry, really sorry-” He was cut off by two strong arms wrapping around him.

“Shhh little one, it’s okay.” The soft whispers of english and spanish in his ears calmed him. The voice inside him reminding him of how to act faded into a whisper and he let himself cry into the arms wrapped around him. They shuffled, as well as two can when desperately trying to not let go of one another can, to the sofa and curled into the corner seat. Who knows how long they laid there, not long because the younger one began to shiver. “Shit, you’re soaked. We need to get you dry.”

Lando's soaking wet clothes (of course he'd forgotten a change of clothes and possibly ruined the upholstery of the 650S) were removed. A hot shower filled the bathroom with steam. Teas with more sugar than actual tea were consumed. Every blanket and duvet from around the apartment was piled onto the sofa.

* * *

Six Thirty-Two PM. Despite the soft glow of the desk lamp, the apartment was growing dark as the daylight faded and the storm worsend. He was starting to fall asleep, finally warm again under the mountain of blankets. Mountain was the only appropriate word, the weight of the blankets felt like another person was lying on top of him, only this person was so soft and fluffy. So soft… so fluffy...

"Thank you Carlos." His final words before sleep overcame him. Would anyone understand the slurred speech muffled by blankets? Carlos would. When he woke up they’d talk.

* * *

No one else needed to understand or hear the words exchanged between the two. From that day forth they made a plan. As often as they could, ideally once a fortnight and at least once every three weeks, the pair would drive to the nearest beach. Lando would go to therapy to undo the damage done by those in his past who were less understanding. Carlos would go too, not to recover but to learn how to help his teammate.

With time, Lando would heal. He’d still love the beach and crave it to the point of pain, but he could cope with it now. He’d learn how to tell someone he was nearing that tipping point that left him empty and cold. He’d learn that he wasn’t the only one in the world who felt like he did. Most surprisingly, he’d learn how to love someone other than family. Carlos, his teammate, his best friend, his almost soulmate. The one person who truly understood that fate had dealt Lando a strange hand.

Love for another person didn’t need to compare, love for the beach and love for Carlos could coexist and be two seperate places in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah blame Lando constantly being too harsh on himself. He worries me sometimes.


End file.
